


Poking At The Embers

by Omoni



Series: The Mardimalle Short Stories Collection [3]
Category: Mardimalle - T.L. Blackmore
Genre: Abuse of Power, Bounty Hunting, Gen, Horrible odds, Injury and recovery, Introduction of Shaley Koerja (Mardimalle), Life-changing Haircut, Magic, Mistakes Are Made, Murder, The Polheds (Mardimalle), Violence, sorcery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9431903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omoni/pseuds/Omoni
Summary: Shaley Koerja, a seasoned bounty hunter, comes across a serial killer with an agenda all her own. When Shaley succeeds in defeating her, she discovers that the murderer did not stand alone - and had many, many others fighting for and with her.This is the very first short story I wrote featuring this character, Shaley Koerja, who later went on to become the protagonist of three novels. While this is not her origin story in truth, it's AN origin story, and one of the most important chapters of her life. It also happens right before the events of the first novel.





	1. Chapter 1

Across the cool plains of south Mardimalle, amongst the tall trees and dense underbrush, along the lines of a random, worn-down path and close to myriad animal homes hidden along the way, a lone woman travelled along this most dark and crowded of forests in this area – and this was during the daytime, too.

Despite this, the woman was humming a cheerful and very loud tune.

Now, one would think that if a person is standing in the middle of a deep, dark thicket of trees that were bigger than their own house at times, seemingly unarmed and completely alone, the last thing one would think to do is call attention to themselves. But this woman was different, to say the least. She actually was looking to call attention to herself, regardless of locale. In fact, she wanted everyone in the forest to hear her journey through these very woods, and she wanted to make sure they heard her at least once, no matter how many times she had to walk and sing through the depths.

And the only way to do that was to keep on singing, humming, and whistling, all of which she employed at random times but at steady intervals.

As it happened, she did catch the attention of more than just the animals and insects. One of which was the attention of another woman hidden in the foliage, out of sight of the singer. She was a tall, muscular woman, built strong but with a bearing to her physique that suggested a slighter form beneath. Her long, golden hair was pulled back in a thick braid that fell down her back, revealing a high forehead, large and expressive brown eyes, and even, lovely features. Dressed in well-worn armour and carrying a sheathed broadsword at her curved hips, this warrior’s name was Ulgroa.

Ulgroa’s beauty was matched only by her skill with the sword, but that was where it ended. Behind it was a strangely wired mind, one that saw threats to her beauty and person everywhere, and one that saw no harm in her method of defence of herself – even if that defence was fatal. For her entire life, Ulgroa saw nothing but a world in which she was the biggest prize to be won by people who did not deserve to win her.

As she grew up in beauty, she grew in strength to protect it, and that skewed mind that saw threats everywhere saw her first true enemies in the eyes of her parents. The day she reached her province’s majority was the day she removed the threat – them – from her life. And when she cleaned her sword and left them behind, many more would fall at her heels as she journeyed on.

Surrounding her, coming barely up to her waist, were several figures that seemed to want to hide behind the large woman. Though short, they were very thin and had long fingers and arms – and claws to match – and bent, thin legs, crooked as if waiting to jump up at any time. With pure white, almost translucent, skin, white hair in varying lengths and textures, and bright green eyes, these people, called polheds, were one of many sub-species of peoples that lived deep in pockets usually untraversed by humans. They wore clothing made of leaves, sewn together by thin strips of bark, and they usually lived deep within the holes of the oldest trees. They hated loud sounds, hated human contact, and especially hated the daytime.

And yet here were at least four polheds flanking a human, listening to another humming, in the daytime.

How Ulgroa came to be with the polheds is simple. During her travelling massacre of innocents thought to be seeking to claim her, she came across a single polhed during the night in this very forest. The polhed had come out to silence Ulgroa, while Ulgroa had come into the forest to hunt for meat. Upon facing each other, Ulgroa did not see a threat in the strangely small form of the one before her. For once, she saw another as an equal, for to Ulgroa, the polhed was as beautiful as she, and thus she felt as if the polhed’s beauty needed protection as well as she did.

For the polhed, a female name Poli, Ulgroa’s silent, stoic and unstable focus seemed almost a boon to her. Though she had sought Ulgroa to silence her with the speed and sharp claws that her people were known for, upon seeing her, Poli decided to stay her attack. Something about the cool, almost blank look in the human’s eyes made her curious, and there are three things polheds are famous for: their attacks, their need of silence, and their curiosity.

 “What do you want?” they both said at once. From there, very softly and carefully, they conversed, Ulgroa discussing her need for peace and safety, and Poli explaining why she had faced off with Ulgroa, and her and her people’s need for silence, too. Ulgroa offered to protect the polheds and their home, ensuring that no one would come close enough to their home to disturb them, and in return, Ulgroa would be given a home with them, protected from those seeking to win her. Poli was one of the four standing in the shadows with Ulgroa now, watching the hooded figure winding her way through the many paths of their glades.

It had been several weeks since Ulgroa had come to live there, but what she didn’t realise was that, during those weeks, she had left several people behind her, either injured or dead, and had therefore become, for Mardimalle, a _huge_ problem. This was peacetime, and death was no longer seen as mere casualty. It was a serious offence, one that usually meant the same end for the murderer, and as such it was very rare that murder was an issue. Therefore, when a serial murderer suddenly came into light, one that had been untouched for years, it was likely to cause panic amongst the peaceful peoples.

 When it came to bringing a murderer to justice in Mardimalle, it usually fell to the local police forces, sometimes consisting of mages. Because murder was so heinous, everyone was eager to have a killer brought to justice, and thus their jobs were rarely as difficult as they could be. But Ulgroa’s strength and skill, as well how unsettling she was at how easy killing was for her, made it more and more difficult to bring her in. She was _always_ on the move.

 By this time, they had become desperate to stop Ulgroa, who was still killing innocents even within the forest she now lived. When their local forces failed, and neighbouring forces failed, it was clear that they needed a different type of person.

This had naturally brought a bounty onto her head.

Bounties, while not uncommon, were serious proclamations. They were usually reserved for human hunts involving theft or bodily harm, but very rarely was it ever used for murder – and even more rare was there a ‘preferred dead’ bonus attached to it. Such a bounty was sure to attract only the most ambitious and seasoned of people, usually mages, and when it came to a bounty that encourages the death of the subject, the pool of candidates able to do so became even smaller.

Only one with confidence in their skill, confidence in their power, and confidence in their mental stability would be willing to take on that kind of bounty without so much as a protest.

And it appeared that they also seemed to carry a penchant for music.

Neither Ulgroa nor her allies knew of the bounty. All they knew was that once again another person was within their forest, making noise and disturbing their daytime sleep. All they saw was an average, slightly fat woman dressed in midnight blue robes, hooded against the damp, arms swinging gaily as she walked. And because she had yet to leave, she had to be silenced.

 “Please, Ulgroa,” Poli whispered, placing her long-fingered hand upon the tall woman’s forearm. “Please make her silent. We can’t take it.”

When the other three nodded, Ulgroa’s beautiful eyes narrowed, and she unsheathed her sword slowly, silently, and held it up. “Nor can I,” she agreed, her voice light and almost whimsical.

 “We have your back,” one of the other polheds whispered. “If you need us, we will be there. You know what to say.” When Ulgroa nodded and licked her lips, Poli added, “Good luck.”

 Baring her straight white teeth, her eyes glinting, and nodded again. Slowly, she lifted her sword, and, from the shadows, became the shadow of the other woman. As she did so, her allies vanished, their speed turning them into streaks before disappearing from sight. She didn’t need to see them to know they were still there.

Though she was sure they made no noise, Ulgroa was surprised when the woman suddenly stopped, standing in a clearing that allowed the sun to fall upon the small space.

Standing there, now whistling an old, bawdy bar song from her hometown of Zola, was no ordinary woman. Clothed in the robes of a Shinjimo mage, the third strongest level of magic, she stood confident and with a wide stance, feet apart and hands on her hips, head tilted back facing the sun. Chubby in hips, bust, and stomach, her legs still had definition to them from years of travelling on foot, suggesting she was fit despite the extra weight – she hadn’t even broken into a sweat. Sturdy black boots seemed to add to the solidness of her form, reaching mid-shin and sporting metal toes with a few tiny dents. Her hands at her hips were pale pink and well-defined, long-fingered and wide-palmed. Stray strands of dark, wavy brown hair poked out from beneath the hood, but her face remained hidden from Ulgroa’s gaze.

She was a bounty hunter, and the very air around her seemed to crackle and spark with her power.

Ulgroa, despite her many battles, had no knowledge of these obvious signals of a fight waiting to happen, but this mage certainly fit the bill. She had stopped, feeling Ulgroa’s gaze on her, and her fingers flexed at her sides, ready to summon up the electric power that nature called on her to control.

The air was full of tension that neither woman seemed willing to break, so the mage broke it first.

 “It seems you’ve been causing trouble, Ulgroa,” she called in no particular direction, her voice clear and loud. “Ulgroa, Mistress of the Polheds.” She said this sentence as loud as possible without yelling, and the polheds beside Ulgroa winced. “You know that Mardimalle has no tolerance for the murder of one person unjustified, let alone over thirty.”

 _Has it been that many?_ Ulgroa bared her teeth, jerking a little, but she stayed hidden.

 “I don’t know what possessed you to kill so many innocents,” the mage continued calmly, “but rest assured, it will end today. If it doesn’t end with your capture, it will end in your death.” There was a glint from beneath the hood, as the sunlight hit the eyes of the mage, the light sparking off of glasses and steel-grey eyes.

 At this bit of hypocrisy, Ulgroa lost her temper. With a single leap, she emerged from the bushes, her sword out and barely half a metre away from the mage’s exposed neck. The mage didn’t flinch when Ulgroa moved close enough to hover the blade closer to her throat, nor did her expression change. Her eyes, however, finally met Ulgroa’s, and all they revealed was plain, open disgust.

At seeing this, the words burst from her mouth, enraged by this. “You’re a _hypocrite_ ,” Ulgroa snarled. “You say that Mardimalle is a land that does not condone death, and yet here _you_ are, ready to lay down _mine_.” Ulgroa’s eyes narrowed. “And who are _you_ to judge whether or not those deaths were justified? You see me! I am beautiful! I must protect the beauty I was gifted with!”

The Mage listened to this in silence, her expression unchanging. After a moment in which there was almost a paused moment in time of silence, the mage slowly held up one hand, and with it, a corner of her mouth lifted with it.

 “Here’s what _you_ don’t seem to understand,” the mage said, sounding as if she were humouring a petulant child instead of a grown adult warrior. “When someone murders another without remorse, they automatically forfeit their own life, baring very minute circumstances.” She paused, seeming to sigh, her finger sagging just a bit. She now looked as if she pitied Ulgroa. “Unfortunately, protecting your beauty from your own parents made your life meaningless the minute you walked away from their still-warm forms.”

Ulgroa seemed to pause. Her mind slowed, trying to process this new information, as somehow, it did make some sense to her. Carefully, she went through her mind. _Didn’t my parents show me threat against my person? Against my beauty?_

 No. She had chosen to kill them because she was now an adult, could walk away, and had no longer trusted them to protect her, despite their not doing anything wrong.

 The others, the ones she killed on the way, she knew she had had the right to kill them, even if someone of them hadn’t even talked or touched her in any way, she knew they thought it, and thus _deserved_ to die.

_Didn’t they?_

 “You’re joking, yes?” Ulgroa said finally, unable to come up with anything else. She brought her sword closer to the mage’s neck, but again, the other woman didn’t flinch. “This is a joke, and you’re trying to distract me from killing you.”

                “You won’t be killing me,” the mage broke in suddenly. Her eyes glinted again, and her smile faded. “Nor am I joking. You have a bounty on your head, and I am a bounty hunter. But I assure you, had you none, I would have still found a way to kill you.” She glared, her hands itchy and hot with her magic. “You shouldn’t have killed so many people.”

 _“They deserved it_!” Ulgroa snarled back.

 _“No_ , only _you_ do,” was the answer. “And wherever you go, you can plea your case on your knees.”

 From their hidden place, the polheds watched in horror as their champion was suddenly frozen in place by this stranger. They realised as one that not only would Ulgroa no longer be able to help them, but in this case, in the sunlight, they were powerless to help Ulgroa, despite their initial promise to do so. Three of the four fled, running back to the nests in order to alert the others. Poli stood alone, watching, hoping in some way that Ulgroa would win this without their help.

“On my _knees_?” Ulgroa repeated slowly. A cool, calm and blank expression suddenly erased the anger from her face, as she suddenly realised that though this mage was not out for her beauty, she was definitely a threat. Very calmly, she pressed the tip of her sword to the mage’s neck, watching as a small bead of blood blossomed, “And how do you think you will do that?”

The mage, in reply, laughed, very softly. Quicker than Ulgroa could follow, one hand came up and slapped a palm onto the blade between them. A burst of bright white light erupted from the mage’s hand, lighting the blade of the sword first white, then red, before the mage brought her other hand forth and drove her first down upon the now-softened – and now useless – sword. Ulgroa stumbled back, from both the reverberation and the sudden scorching heat, dropping the sword but still managing to stay on her feet. Gasping for breath, her sight mangled with white spots and her senses overwhelmed with burnt metal, Ulgroa hunched forward, not moving, except to try and catch her breath and steady her hands.

She looked up, and saw that the mage’s hood was now off, and her hair was free and curling around the mage’s round, pale face. Her expression was merciless, a smile made of disgust and pride. She walked towards Ulgroa, whom had stumbled backwards, barely pausing when her worn boots walked over the ruined sword. She raised her hands, both already glowing once more in bright white.

 “I _love_ it when people ask me questions like that,” she hissed, her grin almost hard to look at, it was so sharp. “Because the answer is _always_ the same.”

 Ulgroa was stunned speechless. She couldn’t move in time, could only watch as the mage raised her now gleaming hands above her, the brightness almost too much to look at.

“My answer is simple,” the mage was saying. There was a faint laugh, as she shook her head, sending her chestnut waves gleaming bright in the light.

“I am Shaley Koerja,” the mage proclaimed. “And I am your death.”

 The blast of the electricity rocked through the glades, shining as bright as noonday sun, scorching several patches of nearby vegetation – including one hidden polhed – to ashes. This, of course, included the mage’s intended target.

 The bounty was filled.

* * *

A sack of coins landed into Shaley’s outstretched hands. She grinned with unbridled joy, being able to tell, by the weight, that it was as heavy as she had hoped. “Thanks so much for doing business for me,” she declared to the mayor of the town closest to the glades, who admitted was looking rather put-out. Between them was a charred and melted broadsword, Shaley’s proof that she had earned that sack of coin.

 Five hundred _del_ was quite a bit of coin, even for a high-risk bounty like this one. And speaking of which…

“What I don’t get is this, Mayor,” Shaley said now, very casually reaching into the back and testing the metal of the coins within – enough to show she knew her coin but not enough to insult his integrity. “When it came down to it, Ulgroa wasn’t much of a challenge. I mean, as a warrior she’s incredible, and at nighttime with her army of goons she’s unstoppable, but during the day and facing a mage?” She raised her eyebrows as she pocketed the sack. “ _Any_ mage could have stopped her, really.”

 The mayor looked embarrassed at this, resting a cheek on his hand and looking to the side. “The truth of the matter is that this area isn’t… _big_ on mages,” he said, sounding slightly apologetic. “We’re more of a… technology-based town.”

For Shaley, this kind of thing was personal. Bad enough she had heard this kind of thing in her home town, but here? Far away? _Really?_

 “As well,” the mayor went on, probably not a good idea, considering. “Magic has been dying out along these shores. I guess a real mage like you hasn’t set foot here in maybe, oh… twenty years, I’d say.”

Shaley had become icy, which came easy for her – it was her second power, ironically enough. “I see. Well, let this whole thing be a lesson to you, then: You can’t always count on nomad mages to come along and save you while you learn how to make unreliable devices creak along. That kind of life certainly didn’t stop people from being killed, now, did it?”

The words were harsh, and the mayor took it so. “Now, wait a moment, it’s not right to say—“

Shaley stood up abruptly and walked towards the door. Before closing it behind her, she added, “I doubt another mage will ever grace your shores again, Mayor, if you continue this way. If I were you,” and here her eyes glinted like sharp knives. “I would hire a mage to protect this place, if it’s not too much of a _stain_ on your _metal_. Otherwise, things like this will always, _always_ come up. And then you will only have yourselves to blame for those dead.”

Not allowing him to retaliate, Shaley left, slamming the door behind her and practically jogging her way from the building and with it, the town.

 _It will always be the same_ , she was thinking sourly as she ran. _Technological morons who shun magic unless it can save their asses from whatever danger they brought on themselves._

Shaley sighed, the coins in her pocket jingling. _Well, at least it keeps me eating._

She left the town behind her without a second thought.

She would regret it.


	2. Chapter 2

Poli had survived the onslaught of the lightning, but one of her people had not. She and the remaining two survivors gathered around his remains, able to recognise him only because he hadn’t been hit full-frontal. All they could do, for what felt like hours, was stare at what had been their friend.

Finally, Poli said, “Ulgroa is dead.”

Anpol, the other female beside her, said, “And with her, Hedlo.”

Another small silence went through them. Then finally, the surviving male, Elpod, murmured, “It was that Mage. Not only is Ulgroa dead, and Hedlo, but our safety as well.”

“Barely anyone knows we’re here,” snapped Poli. She noticed that as they spoke, their eyes never left their dead friend.

“You heard what she said, Poli!” Elpod snapped suddenly, breaking their shared gaze as he rounded on her. “’Mistress of the Polheds’! They know we’re here!”

“Do you really think they would bother to hunt for us, after pinning it all on Ulgroa, after Ulgroa is now dead?” Anpol said softly, her tone flat.

“If we stay hidden and do not kill for a while, they will have no reason to return here and bother us,” Poli said slowly, but as she spoke, her mind was wandering, her thoughts on what she had seen. Ulgroa and she had formed a team, and had formed a friendship from that. After all of that time, could Poli just turn around and pretend it had never happened? Even after seeing that friend die?

“Exactly,” was Anpol’s agreement.

“But we’re not protected anymore,” Elpod protested.

“So we return to what we did before Ulgroa came along. How hard is that?”

“Wait,” Poli held up her hand, holding up two long fingers, a nail under the chins of each of her friends. “You’re dismissing someone who spent several long months of her life defending us for the sole purpose of doing so.”

Anpol leant away from the nail and said, “But you just said—“

“And now I’m saying something else,” Poli snapped, lowering her hand and glaring at both of them. “Ulgroa can’t just be forgotten in a blink of an eye and a flash of magic, you fools. Would you forget Hedlo just as quickly?”

An embarrassed silence fell over them, their eyes going to their dead friend in regret.

“So then, what do we do?” Anpol asked after a moment, her eyes going to Poli’s.

She thought for a moment. “The Mage, she said her name was… Shaley Koerja?” When they nodded, she went on. “So that’s not a common name. I’m also pretty sure that, if what she says is true, then she likely had to spend time getting her bounty. Knowing that, and knowing that she obviously travels, we should be able to trail her quite easily from the glades.”

“And then what?” Elpod accused sullenly. For someone who had finally managed to convince his fellow friends to his side, he appeared petulant at the prospect. “What are we supposed to do once we catch up to her?

Poli grinned, then raised her hand again, ensuring all of her claws were out and sharp. It was the only answer she needed to give.

* * *

As Shaley walked down the beaten path and away from that down, she reflected on what she had seen and experienced. It wasn’t just small towns that gave Shaley trouble, but in cities like Zola, like her own, as well. For as long as she could remember, she had always been attracted to magic, even when it was seen as a myth within her ridiculous city. It was not only a myth, but anyone even wondering otherwise was frowned on at best, and considered a nuisance or insane in the worst. Shaley had been teased and taunted mercilessly as a child for this desire.

Granted, it could have been much worse. Her family was rather tolerant of her penchant for things fantastical, not condemning her or humiliating her, merely humouring or ‘correcting’ her, although now she was sure that they wished she had been more normal. It had been a problem, however, in public, as Zola was a place that reveled in a new thing they were calling ‘technology’, or, as the mages of the neighbouring towns called it scathingly, ‘the lazy one’s magic’. It had initial began with clockwork, but once steam entered the mix, it was uphill from there, and pretty soon, Zola was known as a technological pioneer.

For Shaley, it was a prison, being in a place like that. Granted, she did agree that many of what was being invented was useful and would save time and energy – and lives, even. And it was also true that she would admit later that indeed it was a poor one’s magic. Yet even though it was useful and made people prosperous, Shaley didn’t like it. She couldn’t name it per se, only explain it as a feeling: discomfort. Or rather, a sense of the artificial.

So naturally, when she reached adulthood, she had to get out of there. Things were moving too fast and she couldn’t take it anymore. On the night of her eighteenth birthday, she announced that the following morning, she was on her way out. Her family had known it was coming, but they still tried to talk her out of it anyway. They of course failed.

That was a year and a half – maybe closer to a year and three quarters, really – ago, and here she now was, a full-fledged mage making her own money and making her own name. The road was where her feet belonged, and the road welcomed her.

Ironically enough, this detour to Coredal had been on a whiff of a whim. She had actually been on her way to the famed city – _no, country, now_ – of Argom, to its capitol of the same name (hence why she always mixed them up). Argom City was rumoured to not only be an entire city of magic, but THE city of magic, _the_ place you went if you really and truly believed in the strength of your magic and wanted more. Shaley had heard about it shortly after her nineteenth birthday, which was quite some time back, so while Coredal was a detour, it clearly hadn’t been her only one. But those are different stories for other times.

_Still_ , she thought now, whistling a little as she walked along the dirt road again, once more on the path to Argom City, _it always helps to get more experience under her belt on the way, even if the people are idiots._

Shaley was looking forward to being able to not only talk to other seasoned mages about their craft, but to be able to get some answers as well. She still had questions, even after all of this time. If the answers were anywhere, they were in Argom City.

She had been so wrapped up in these thoughts and the excitement that came with them that she hadn’t realised dusk was upon her until she realised she was stumbling from fatigue and lack of light. She was a little annoyed, as she was now too far away from Coredal to circle back and stay at an inn, but too far in the glades to keep going until she found another town. She would have to camp out, which she hated, always hated, and would always hate, no matter how long she travelled. It saved money but the money would later be spent on salves for bug bites and sore muscles. Circle of life.

As the sky darkened, Shaley settled under the biggest tree she could find, one that was close enough to the path for the morning, but deep enough so as not to be seen by passers-by. The canopy of the tree would serve well as shade and shelter for the night and the morning. Looking up at the sky, she noted that it was patchy, so rain wouldn’t be a worry. At least she had luck in that.

She settled in, eating some of her stores and offering some to the ground as she was taught to as a girl. Old habits died hard, but even for a tech city like Zola, they had their weird traditions despite it, and appeasing ancestors was one of them. Once the food was set out far enough so that she wouldn’t disturb it, Shaley curled up into her usual ball under her cloak and a blanket, used her bag as a pillow, and gradually fell asleep, her thoughts curiously calm for such a busy day.

She had been sleeping perhaps an hour when something woke her. It was sudden, one of those jump-start awakenings that makes a person instantly alert and flooded with adrenaline. Instantly, Shaley knew that someone or something was nearby, and she slowly uncurled and got to her feet, her glasses already on her face and her mind already reaching for her magic.

Someone was nearby for sure.

She kicked her blanket and pack away hurriedly, her hand at her side as she formed chains of symbols in her mind. As she felt a rush of heat through her as her magic woke within her blood, her eyes scanned hurriedly from left to right, trying to find something off about her surroundings. The darkened, patchy sky was now a disadvantage, though the moon above offered only half its usual light.

Her heart racing, she slowly stepped forward, whispering the finally phrase that would summon the magic in her blood to her fingertips. When it did, a bulbous ball of light, almost like a bubble, bobbed just centimetres over her fingertips, offering a small but better than nothing light. Shaley held it up high, and it weaved to a spot just above her head, where it tethered itself at her mental command. It was only bright enough to see maybe a half-metre around her, but it was something.

She stayed still, knowing that doing so just placed a huge spotlight on herself in an otherwise dark forest, but at this point, she had no choice. She looked, she listened, and only heard the gentle breeze of the night air.

_Am I imagining things?_

It seemed unlikely. At the start of her journey she had been pretty ignorant of the dos and don’ts of travel, but many skirmishes along the way smartened her up quick. She knew she was now savvy enough to recognise when her instincts were correct, and this was one of those times.

So she waited, trying not to breathe too loud, waiting for whatever it was she knew was there.

Then, she heard it: a rush of air, like a gust of wind.

She swallowed, trying to get a fix on the location, but once she thought she had it, she heard the same noise, in the opposite direction, and she had to start over again.

She frowned. _What kind of creature can do that kind of thing?_

Then the answer came in a wave of fear and adrenaline, and she knew she was in deep trouble.

_Polheds can do that._

Her thought was confirmed when, in the light of her spell, she saw a tall, willowy figure standing a metre away from her, just within the edges of the light. Shaley paused, was about to say something, but her words dried up when she suddenly realised that this polhed was not alone.

Indeed, if Shaley were to have estimated, she would have put the number to at least a dozen, and she would have been right. Poli and company had gone back to the other polheds and explained the situation, and as many as ten volunteered, followed by a few other late-comers. Apparently Poli hadn’t been alone in her desire for revenge.

Poli stood in the front, her friends and family behind her, faces calm and expressionless. In the dark, they were strong, their bodies almost glowing in the night’s cloak. Shaley stared at her directly for a moment, before she slowly broke gaze and found that not only was she blocked off in front, but also behind.

She was indeed trapped in a ring of polheds.

Heart racing, Shaley hurriedly opened her hands, palms up, showing she was weaponless and magickless save the light spell. Already, she could feel panic slowly snake its way up and down her body.

Polheds were reputed to be very private creatures, true, but everyone knew that if you crossed them, you had pretty much signed your own death warrant. Shaley had, of course, known this when she took the bounty, knowing that if Ulgroa consorted with polheds, Shaley herself would be in trouble should they come for revenge.

The thing was, Shaley hadn’t banked on revenge. Why? Because she had miscalculated the worth that Ulgroa had had with the polheds of these glades. She hadn’t thought they would have cared enough. She hadn’t even seen any when she had killed Ulgroa.

She had made a possibly fatal mistake, one so obvious and embarrassing that she couldn’t believe the extent of her own hubris and folly.

But she had to try. She wasn’t going to just lie down and let them do whatever they wanted. Not now.

_Not ever._

“Hello,” she said softly, unable to hide her shakiness in voice and hands. “I-I’m just travelling through here, on my way somewhere far from here. I just needed to stop for sleep. Am I in your territory?”

Perhaps it wasn’t smart to lie, but Shaley was so sure that none of them had heard her name or even seen her as Ulgroa’s killer that she was certain it would work.

The silence that met her desperate words, the expressions before her changing from blank to disgusted, mistrusting, even hateful…

_Mother,_ she thought in dismay, _I’ve really underestimated them._

She swallowed again, her mouth and throat so dry she almost choked. “Listen,” she tried again, her eyes on the polhed in front of her, the one that seemed to be the leader. “I think you _may_ be overreacting to this…”

As soon as the words left her, she knew she had just signed her own death warrant. Not only did they not think the same, but they also didn’t care what she thought.

_“Kill her,”_ Poli hissed, her hands going up, her claws out and her teeth bared in a smile so terrifying, Shaley knew she would never forget it for as long as she lived.

_If I even live past this…_

The moment Poli said the command, they were on the move. Shaley tried to keep track of them, but they were too fast, too many. They moved like white streaks, speedy blurs so fast that her eyes watered just trying to keep one in gaze. Before she could even think of a chain of symbols, there was a whoosh, and a blur that seemed to touch her, before almost vanishing.            

A second later, there was pain, bright pain, that exploded from her shoulder. She gasped and grabbed it, her hand coming away with blood so dark in the night it looked like ink. Before she could even recover from that, she felt another bite-like slash hit her shin, and she stumbled but stayed on her feet, gritting her teeth and swallowing the groan of new pain. One of them with that hit had almost severed the tendons of her knee, but had just missed.

_Barely._

She cursed, gritting her teeth, trying to keep the light spell up while trying to call up another spell. She concentrated, _hard,_ breaking into a cold sweat as she did so. She had to close her eyes to visualise these symbols, speaking their names in tense monotone as she felt her power build. This was a spell that she didn’t use often, one that was at the very height of the level of Shinjimo. It was a killing spell, like the one she had used on Ulgroa, but stronger, bigger, and meant for more than one person. It was also the only deadly spell at that level that hit more than one target. Shaley had learnt the spell to protect herself, but since doing so had never used it, and had even thought she would never have to.

The time was definitely now.

The light spell vanished above her, but it didn’t matter at this point: Shaley was ablaze with the spell. Below her was a five-point star etched in the ground, done automatically by her lightning. It shone a bright white that lit far more than the light spell ever could, and immense heat poured from it. Shaley held her hands upwards, raising them to the sky, all while, it seemed, with each visualised symbol, another cut opened, another scratch blossomed to life.

She opened her eyes, seeing her hands blaze in white as she trembled, her body stumbling from pain and blood loss. Adrenaline kept the worst of it at bay, but she knew that if she didn’t stop them soon, she was dead, no question.

Slowly, using both hands, she traced two triangles, forming a six-pointed star above her. It took longer than she would have liked, and her vision was blurring, but she would be damned before she quit.

Instantly, the symbol at her feet and the symbol at her hands connected, forming a body-encompassing light. At this point, she realised this really was her only chance, her last shot. She knew her body’s limits, and unleashing this spell…

_Fuck it,_ she thought acidly, screaming out the final words to the spell. The trigger words brought the spell instantly to its full life, bringing with it a rush of heat and blue-white light. Crackling with its power, her blaze a glowing but bloodied beacon of lightning, the two stars met before her, becoming an-eleven pointed star. The light was so intense that it seemed to engulf the entire forest with its light, and in her blurry vision, she saw that there were even more polheds than she had thought.

_Imagine that._

With that, she let it go. The star exploded into a storm of lightning, the countless forks gushing forward like a wave of sea, its tendrils reaching back and front and all around her. She kept concentrating, forcing all of her power behind that shockwave, her whole body now shaking so hard she could barely keep her hands steady.

As she watched, scores of the polheds had been vaporised in the initial attack. She could only see white, and whenever it touched a dimmer figure of white, suddenly it became ashes. However, she realised belatedly, that the shockwave wasn’t going to be big enough to stop them all. Many of them had died, and many had fallen wounded, but behind them, many were just winded and ready for more.

As her power waned, so did her strength and will to fight.

_My spell. My greatest spell. Useless._

Shaley’s hands fell to her sides, completely spent, slippery with blood she hadn’t felt until now. She dropped, first to her knees, then on all fours. When that happened, she almost cried, because for a brief moment, the onslaught of cuts stopped. It was only when she didn’t finish the fall that they realised she needed help along, and they continued.

Cuts and scraped are enough to walk away with when you get maybe one or two, maybe a dozen or so depending on how deep they are. However, they’re quite a different thing when that number rises from a dozen, to almost five or six times that, and all at once. Even the strongest can be weakened by that many cuts and blows.

Shaley was not one of the strongest, she knew. She liked to hope that someday she would have been, and certainly she worked hard enough to make it almost a possible goal. But in the scope of things, she was still only a Shinjimo mage, and one only half-baked at that. Now that she had completely spent her magical capacity in that one spell (she could see the bright white streaks of her hair that was evidence of that), she had no other means to fight.

Magic had been all she _had._

When a particularly hard blow knocked her to her side, it made her gasp out. When she tried to get up again, she found that her body wouldn’t obey her, not this time. Once her body got used to being on the ground, she found she started losing control of other things as well.

She found that she couldn’t see or feel anything very well. Pretty soon, she couldn’t even hear anything. Or maybe they had just stopped attacking her?

Either way, when she felt herself falling under, into that black that welcomes you without judgement, she wasn’t even surprised. She let her eyes close – _or had they already been closed_? – and she fell into it, hoping that once she did, she wouldn’t be able to feel anything anymore.

* * *

There was a soft thud, one that Shaley did not hear. At this point, Shaley was in all but name long gone, and only a bare flicker kept her alive. That flicker had forced his hand, and he jumped down before her and held out his hands.

Instantly, silence. Poli, who was still alive, came forward. The figure was male, cloaked in black, and even with her night vision, that was all she could make out. Save one thing.

The pattern upon his sleeves.

Poli stepped back, holding her arms up just like he was. Instantly, her company froze, for they now could see the fear on her face. It was pure, naked, unabashed fear, her eyes trained on those symbols, glowing bright blue on the man’s hems and sleeves.

“Go home,” she said. _“Now.”_

Without a word, there were blurs and whooshes, and her word was obeyed. Poli stood her ground, staring. The man stared back. She could feel his gaze, if not see it.

“Who are you to stop our revenge, Uredine mage?” she demanded, unable to stop her anger from making her voice tremor, despite her fear.

In response, he turned his back to her. With gentle hands, he tried to wipe the blood from Shaley’s motionless face, but only brought more to the surface, the cuts still fresh. Her glasses were cracked, but luckily hadn’t shattered. But she was alive. That was what mattered.

She was alive.

He lowered his head for a moment, breathing in slowly, his heart slowing as well. Gently, carefully, uncaring of the blood, he gathered Shaley’s prone form up into his arms, holding her so gently it was like she was made of glass.

When he turned back, Poli was poised to attack. She watched him, watched the mage who was about to strip her of her revenge for Ulgroa, but fear stopped her, especially when she felt his gaze on her.

“You’ve done enough,” he said finally, his voice flat and deep, the emotion choked lifeless from it. “Your revenge has been met. She’ll be broken for life. Isn’t that a better revenge for you?”

Before Poli could even reply, there was a sudden rush of displaced air, and in a flash of light, both mages had vanished.

Poli knelt to the ground, speechless. She stayed there until daylight. When it came, she wiped her eyes, nodded slowly, and walked away.

It was enough for her.


	3. Chapter 3

Shaley was surprised when she woke up. In fact, it was the waking itself that was the surprise. At first, she woke slowly, realising that that was actually what she was doing. Her eyes were gluey and had to be rubbed open, which in turn awoke stitches of pain faster than her brain ever could awaken.

It was the pain that woke her up fully, suddenly awash in cold sweat and adrenaline, suddenly trapped back in that dark, fever-dream reality of her attack. She sat up; gasping at the additional wear it took on her wounds, her mind frantically calling up any symbol she could, her fingers in her panic tracing the symbols in the air, like she did when she was still learning them.

When she felt her hand grow hot, she suddenly came to herself, and allowed the symbols to vanish from her mind and thus her hand. She collapsed back down, realising that she was not lying on the leaf-carpeted ground, but an actual bed, with sheets and pillows and everything.

Her eyes still blurry from both pain and her lack of glasses, she looked around as best she could without moving her head too much. She could make out what looked to be a room in a run-of-the-mill village Healer’s house, though fancier and cleaner than Shaley herself had ever had the luck of being in. Slowly, she allowed that to sink in, her eyes falling to the bedside table, where a fresh candle, matches, a glass of water, and her glasses all lay together in a mismatched circle. At the foot of it was her bag, looking muddy and singed, but otherwise intact. She would have to assess the damage later. Right now, she was more worried about herself.

_How am I alive?_

She had no memory following that last blow to the head, save what she now knew were fever-nightmares brought on by what was obviously her body healing. She had no idea how long she’d been here, nor who had been treating her. She didn’t even know what town she was in.

Slowly and carefully, her teeth clenched, she managed to rise into a sitting-up position, surprised and annoyed to feel as weak as a kitten while doing so. From that alone, she knew she had been here at least a day or two, likely more. She pushed her glasses on, smelt the water and found it fine, then drank it down in almost one gulp, so parched it almost hurt.

When she finished drinking, she realised that she door was open slightly and a woman was looking in. When it was obvious that Shaley was awake, the woman opened the door and walked in quickly, startling Shaley into stumbling backwards into the headboard of the bed.

“Miss, you need to lie back down,” said the woman – the Healer, or one of the attendants, at least. Shaley gasped, wincing as more pain washed over her, and she clutched a hand to her chest. Both her hand and chest were bandaged tightly, but were now showing spreading spots of red.

The woman frowned, and for some reason, despite her initial surprise, it made Shaley feel somewhat like a disobedient child. Carefully, she lay back down, noticing finally just how many bandages were actually applied to her.

They were all over, it felt like: Her legs, arms, stomach and chest, even her behind and breasts. Her clothes hadn’t protected her as well as she’d liked, and that was something that had to change in the future. Even her hands and feet bore damage, and it was then that she noticed she was actually naked, but it mattered little due to her bandages.

Besides, the Healers had clearly already seen her naked, so it mattered even less at this point.

The woman before her was standing there, still, waiting patiently as Shaley examined herself. Shaley blushed, but the woman smiled gently, seemingly different than her terse entry had been. The woman was a sharp-tooth, short and stout and dressed in the white robes of a Healer. Her hair was bright orange, cut short to her head, and her round face was very friendly, with even features, large black eyes, and light brown complexion. When she smiled, her whole face was kinder, and Shaley was put at ease. Clearly this woman was the one who had been in charge of her care, and had done a good job.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” she said now, looking at the empty water glass with satisfaction. “You were in a bad way, my dear.”

Shaley again had the weird impulse to apologise, but instead offered her name and gratitude. Again the Healer smiled brightly and introduced herself as Daltreese.

“What…?” Shaley hesitated, wincing a little and scooting back down under the sheets; the more she woke up, the more the pain did, too. “What happened? Where am I? How long…?” Her voice, despite the previous drink of water, was hoarse and more croak than speech.

Daltreese placed a gentle hand on Shaley’s forehead. “Calm down. You’re safe, now.”

Shaley swallowed, shutting her eyes for a moment. She hadn’t realised it, but as she had spoken, her eyes had filled with tears and her body started to shake. Everything that had happened had been coming back with each word, and her vision had gone dark at the edges. When Daltreese touched her forehead, she felt a gentle, cool tendril seem to wind its way through her skull, and with its help, she calmed slowly.

As Daltreese spoke, she moved back to the door, pushed in a wheeled cart, and from it refilled Shaley’s cup with the pitcher found there. Shaley smiled gratefully.

“First of all, I can’t stress enough, Miss Koerja: you’re safe. What I was told, you survived a polhed attack. That’s something I was taught to be very unlikely, so congratulations.” She smiled again, a sly one, and Shaley returned it slightly, a little shy. She didn’t even know _how_ she had done so, so the praise felt out of place somehow.

“That’s what happened to you. Where you are is far simpler, I assure you.” Daltreese moved around so quickly for a large woman it was admirable for someone like Shaley, who was also larger than average. With deft hands, the Healer yanked down Shaley’s blankets and began to unwrap the soiled bandages so fast, Shaley had barely any time to blush. It helped that Daltreese kept talking as she worked. “You’re in my second infirmary room in my Healer hut. This is Dolvaar. It’s just southeast of the city of Argom. Do you know it?”

Shaley nodded slowly, mentally mapping it out. While not her forte, she still managed to place it on her mind’s map. If she had it right, she was only a few kilometres or so from Coredal.

“And as how you got here, and for how long you’ve been…” Daltreese tossed the bandages into a basket and grabbed a second basin, one Shaley hadn’t noticed was also on the cart. It steamed in a very appealing way, and to her conflicted pleasure and embarrassment, Daltreese began to wash her. She almost protested, trying to take the towel away to do it herself, but when she tried, she winced and had to lie back down, Daltreese merely rolling her eyes and resuming. Shaley let it go. She had earned it.

“As I was _saying_ …” Daltreese smirked now, and Shaley suspected there was more than amusement within it now. “You’ve been here for almost four days, now, and were brought here by a man who–,”

“ _Man_?” Shaley blurted out in spite of herself, sitting up so quickly the water spilt from the basin. “ _What_ man? _What are you talking about?”_

Daltreese scowled a little at the water on the floor as well as the tone of voice, then decided that Shaley’s punishment would be to have to submit to be flipped onto her front. Before Shaley could ask again, Daltreese said, “He didn’t give us a name, dear. Wasn’t he with you?”

“No,” Shaley answered, a sinking feeling in her guts. “I’m alone. Always.”

“Well, then, you were rescued by one of the nicest people _I’ve_ ever met,” Daltreese replied easily. “He rushed in here with you practically in ribbons, and wouldn’t leave until we reassured him you were safe – which took two days, mind you; you were so feverish. Once he was told you would be fine with time, he paid us more than we needed and left. Never left a name. Didn’t even show his whole face.”

Shaley was glad she wasn’t able to see Daltreese’s face, because she knew she was pale and it would likely worry the Healer for the wrong reasons. She wasn’t pale from pain, but from what felt almost like being exposed. _Someone had been there? Had he watched me get attacked? Who was he? And why would he pay for such expensive care and leave?_

“I don’t understand,” she admitted weakly.

“Well, luckily for us, you don’t have to in order to heal. He was very generous and you could even stay for a whole month if you’d like.”

When Shaley looked over her shoulder at Daltreese, she saw the Healer was serious. “I would recommend _at least_ a week or two more. You were badly hurt, Miss Koerja.”

Shaley swallowed hard. “How… bad?”

As Daltreese replaced the bandages, she very gently broke the news to Shaley. According to the man, she had been found heartbeats from death in the forest. It had taken them almost an entire day to stop the bleeding, and twice they had to resuscitate her. As such, her constitution had been compromised: she was going to have to take special care now when running, using powerful magic, and basically anything physically tiring, until – _if_ it ever did – her strength returned. When Shaley heard that, she grabbed a lock of her hair and saw that it was still white, but there were some brown streaks coming back. However, her hair itself was a mess, as if someone blind had used blunt scissors to cut it. It was ruined. The colour would come back eventually, but the actual length was misshapen and dishevelled. That hurt her vanity, but that was the least of her troubles.

As if _that_ wasn’t enough, she would also apparently be scarred for life. Though Healers could knit skin together and accelerate the new birth of cells in order to keep it together, depending on the level and the skill of the Healer, there was always a chance of scarring. Since Daltreese was – judging by the turquoise patterns on her hems – a Hashamag Healer-Mage, Shaley knew the scarring was from the degree of the wounds and not the skill. As she was gently moved onto her back and the blanket replaced, Shaley touched her cheek and felt only very light puckering. Those scars would either be faint enough to not worry about being disfigured, or would be gone for good. Her body, however, was clearly having more trouble, judging by the bloody towels and red scars left behind. Those would likely silver over time, but they’d be there for life.

She tried to make light of it. “Good thing I like long robes,” she croaked out. She tried to laugh, but a sob escaped her instead. Daltreese gently raised her to sitting up, wrapping another, smaller, blanket over her shoulders as she cried. She didn’t try to hug Shaley, nor did she move to leave, but merely sat there and kept one hand on one quivering shoulder.

When her sobs softened, Daltreese told her, “You’re safe, now,” a third time. Shaley nodded slowly, lowering her head and allowing the jagged, uneven edges of her hair to cover her face, finally able to accept it. When Daltreese offered her sleeping medicine, she decided to accept it. Everything, right now, was too much for her, and clearly Daltreese knew. The drug was mixed with her water and tasted bitter and nasty, but the results made it worth it.

She felt Daltreese take her glasses off her face, turn her gently to her side, and wrap her up again in more sheets, before she felt asleep.

Luckily, she dreamt of nothing.

* * *

 When she woke, it was brighter in the room, and she felt slightly better, though her mouth was dry as day-old socks. She felt strong enough to sit up by herself and look at her surroundings better. She noticed with a wash of relief that, somehow, her pack and tattered clothes were still in the room. Her robes were ruined, but they were clean, which made her feel warm with gratitude all over again.

With a wry smile, she touched her hair again. She had loved her long hair. Before she left home, her hair had been to her chin, and always had been since she was little. When she began travelling, she decided to, save her bangs, let it grow long. Its length would be a physical representation of how long she was on the road. It had been her one main vanity, and she cared for it every single morning and night.

It was silly to be sad about something so meaningless, given what she had just been through, but she cried anyway, her face in her hands and her elbows on her knees, not the wrenching sobbing she had done before, but the gulping, breath-stealing soft weeping of someone overwhelmed with their pain. At few times she almost retched, but managed to calm down before doing so.

When she calmed, she rubbed her eyes with the back of her wrist, her gaze unfocused before her, trying to figure out just how fast she had fallen and why so hard, and how she managed to even survive it to begin with.

Who _was_ the man Daltreese had spoken of? In her travels, Shaley wasn’t one to make friends, and the few times she had travelled with anyone were strictly for a shared goal, like a job or bounty. Never had she truly become friends with anyone, and none of them struck her as the kind of person to rescue her, let alone pay for her survival.

Shaley rubbed her forehead, trying desperately to remember someone who would care so much about her. Maybe it really had just been someone extraordinarily kind, perhaps a monk or a priest of the Goddess devoted to rescue. Maybe it was mere luck that had rescued her.

The idea that she could even be stalked, or watched, or guarded over, only crossed her mind once, and it barely lingered, because it was so unlikely. Nobody likes to be wrong, after all. But that would only be apparent much, much later.

_What do I do now?_

The thought was so sudden it surprised her _. Can I even go on after all of this? Daltreese said I was damaged, that it could be permanent. What if I have to give up magic?_

Her hands clenched so hard her nails bit through the bandages. She gritted her teeth, shaking her head.

_Never. Never. I’m not giving up. If I have to keep going with crutches and for decades longer than planned, I don’t care. I won’t care. I won’t give up._

“I’m _not_ giving up,” she murmured tersely, her voice choked. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to scream or sob. “I’m _not_. I _won’t_. I _never_ will.”

The words acted as a mantra, calming her heart and soothing her emotional pain. She sighed deeply, her eyes closing. She relaxed, hunching over and resting her chin on her chest. So what should she do now, then?

When she opened her eyes, her vision was screened over with uneven chunks of brown and white frizz. _My one vanity, huh? Maybe it’s time for a change._

When Daltreese came in with more water and what smelt like soup, it was maybe an hour later. As Daltreese made sure she drank the broth that was generously full of very tender chicken meat, Shaley asked her when she would be able to take a proper bath and walk around in town.

“Why?” Daltreese wondered, looking confused. “Are you in a hurry to leave again?”

Shaley smiled bashfully. “I’d like to get a haircut, actually.”

Daltreese grinned, giving her own red spikes of hair a fluff. “I can recommend a good barber. You have a good face for very short hair, you know.”

Shaley had to laugh a little. “What, are you paid to advertise for them?”

“My cousin,” Daltreese winked, almost causing Shaley to choke on her soup in laughter. “Think about going short. It’s easy to maintain if you travel a lot, depending on the length.”

Shaley shrugged, but her mind was seriously considering it. She had toyed with the idea of going back to her bob in hotter weather, but never bothered. Maybe now was the time, before the heat settled back in.

“And with that hack-job, thanks to your polhed friends,” Daltreese was saying, still smiling, “you’d likely have to go at least chin-length for a while.”

They talked about it, Shaley wondering what length was best for self-maintenance, as well as tips on how to manage it if it got in her face. Since it was inevitable that most of her hair had to go, short hair was the only real choice she had.

It bothered her, still, the idea of having nothing left of her hair to show for how hard she had worked and how long a journey it had been. She gently combed through the locks as she ruminated about it, and found that, on her left side, there was still a rather thick chunk of untouched hair that was the same length it had been before. Holding it in one hand, Shaley had an idea. She told Daltreese, who agreed it was interesting and that her cousin would likely be fine with it.

However, Daltreese did caution that it would be at least another day before Shaley would be strong enough to wash herself, let alone stay on her feet. Most likely, Daltreese warned, Shaley would have to walk with a crutch or cane into town, not to mention at least for a few days after leaving the Healer. Since it was what she had expected anyway, she accepted Daltreese’s offer of the Healer going into town ahead of time to find Shaley a collapsible cane she could take on her travels. When Shaley offered to pay, Daltreese laughed.

“I’ll just take it from the credit the man left,” was her reply, before she vanished from the room.

Shaley stared at the wall after this, still slightly haunted by the strange kindness of a random person she would likely never, ever know.


	4. Chapter 4

 True to Daltreese’s word, it did take another day until Shaley felt strong enough to get out of bed without falling on her face. She did take advantage of the collapsible cane Daltreese had purchased for her, taking the time to practise walking with it when she could. It was a solid wooden thing, made of golden-brown wood shellacked into a gleaming shine. With twistable screws made of an even stronger wood (Shaley suspected cedar or oak), it could collapse into itself, from a cane as tall as four feet at its limits to a foot-long stick just small enough for her shoulder-bag. Daltreese had fine taste indeed, and apparently, Shaley’s rescuer was quite generous.

The next day, Daltreese gave her a cautionary pass for a brief venture into the outside world for her haircut. Shaley had mastered the cane, both walking with it and folding (and unfolding) it, and though every step tugged on her wounds and made her tired, she felt the thrill, still, of being on her feet once more. Daltreese noticed, and warned her sharply to take no detours, and that if she didn’t return in two hours, Daltreese would hunt her down and drag her back.

She said it as a threat, but Shaley also understood it for what it also was: a promise that if something happened and Shaley needed help, Daltreese would watch her back. Shaley was grateful all over again, and thanked the Healer over and over again.

Daltreese turned bright red after Shaley’s third burst, and snapped out, “Hurry up and leave. My body gets soggy from your tongue licking it in hopes of favour.”

The image was so weird it made Shaley pause, then laugh, harder than she had in a while. She took it as a good sign and, with a smile and a wave, hobbled her way out the door, and into the bright sunlight.

* * *

 It was a warm day, warm enough to be comfortable in the light, baggy pyjamas of a patient out and about. She had grabbed her beaten bag and had slung it over her shoulder as usual, finding a way to balance the weight of it on one side and the cane with it on the other. She planned to stop by the markets on the way back to get new robes, ones that were either able to hold a protection spell or had one already cast into it. Either way, she was not going to make _that_ mistake again.

The walk was slower than she was used to. Daltreese wasn’t kidding when she said it was going to take a while to get used to walking again, let alone walking at a pace she was used to. The roads she walked were well-worn and packed down, so there was no chance of tripping on a lump or bump, but it felt like Shaley could feel every curve and every shift under her feet regardless. It was confusing.

To distract herself from her new method of walking, she instead looked around at this town she was now in. It wasn’t so bad, all things considered. While not as large as the average town, it was still large and nice enough to boast a few specialty stores. Indeed, there were actually _two_ places to get one’s hair cut: a barber _and_ a salon.

Shaley quirked an eyebrow at this, knowing that her goal was a salon, but wondering why a place needed two places to cut hair. As she made her way and looked around closer, she realised that when it came to the placement of the buildings, it was like a patchwork quilt of a town; random sizes and shapes of abodes, no two alike and no theme to any section. There would be a shop selling wine next to a temple to the Goddess, and next to _that_ a courtesan house.

For some reason, Shaley liked this. She liked the idea of groups of random peoples coming together and just setting up shop next to each other, regardless of who stood nearby. It even seemed like everyone was on good terms, as well. It was a sense of community that Shaley had rarely seen on her travels, and she planned on coming back some day if she could, just to have a chance to enjoy this better once she was fully recovered.

As she walked, she noticed that she was left alone; the merchants and hawkers selling their wares did not shout to her or try to get into her path and steer her to a booth. Shaley didn’t understand why at first, until she remembered what she was wearing and how she was walking; it was clear she was a recovering patient, and apparently the people of this town knew better than to try and hinder her progress. She was grateful, and offered shy smiles when her eyes met someone walking to the side to give her space.

By the time she reached the salon, she was breathless and had to lean against the cane for a few moments in order to catch her breath. Her vision swam with blue spots, and her heart raced so hard she felt it everywhere she was still healing. Once she was able to calm her heartbeat and breathe normally, she made her way into the nice-looking salon and faced the one who would hold her pride in their hands.

As it turned out, Daltreese’s cousin was indeed almost as kind as her, though he was practically her opposite in every way. A tall, lanky man with dark, super-straight hair that fell past his shoulders, his face and hands all points and angles, greeted her coolly. His eyes, however, as black as Daltreese’s, held the same warmth as hers, and Shaley relaxed.

“You’re Miss Koerja?” was his greeting, bowing to her, and she hastily tried to bow back as best as she could, which resulted in a slight nod and a bit of bent knee. “I’m Zimmer. Dally sent you, right?”

Shaley smiled and agreed that it was so. Zimmer clapped his hands together and grinned, as if she had just told him his favourite joke. “Have a seat. I already know what to do for you.”

She obeyed, but once he had her hair wet and his scissors up, she stopped him. “Wait, before you do this,” she began, slightly nervous. “I want to keep this part long, still.” Gingerly, she pulled the long, thick tress of still-long hair hanging at her left cheek, showing it and keeping her fist tightly around it, as if letting go would make it short. “The rest can be cut in layers and to my ears, please, but this, please keep it.”

To her surprise yet again, he grinned wider. “I like it when my clients have creativity. Of _course_ I can keep this!” And to prove it, he braided it tightly with quick hands, the long tress thick enough to hold quite a nice braid. It was heavy against her cheek and wet, but she touched it gently, its end reaching just to her left breast. She barely noticed as Zimmer worked on the rest, the uneven ends and mismatched colours slowly coming together into a shiny, smooth cap. He trimmed her bangs to even them out, resulting in them being shorter than usual, but at this point, she was just glad she still had them.

When she looked up, she was surprised to see herself. The braid against her cheek softened that side of her face, which was interesting, because usually parting it that way made that side seem hidden and obscured. In this case, the hair cleared from her face from both sides (the braid tossed now behind her shoulder) accented the softness of her face, but also called attention to her expressive eyes and even, round features. Though she looked tired and in need of a good steak, she had to admit the shorter hair did indeed suit her better than the long.

The braid, though, she touched again, looking at it. It was threaded with strands of white, making it more like salt-and-pepper instead of its usual dark brown, but seeing at least this part of her hair still representing her years of hard work remaining was a comfort.

It also served as a reminder: hubris was her greatest enemy.

She thanked Zimmer profusely, promising to spread the word of his excellent work. She paid it and tipped him as well as she possibly could, and he was so happy he shook her hand between his so hard she almost fell over. He apologised, but she was laughing, so it didn’t matter.

Her head felt lighter, and the gentle swing of the braid against her cheek was comforting, making her feel less like a shorn sheep and more like some kind of haircut trends-setter. It was a silly thought, one that made her laugh softly.

She had to admit it later, but she did rush through the purchase of her new robes and a spare set of shirts and tights. Though she did ensure the robes were sewn with protective spells with her magickal sense, when it came to the style, she chose the most comfortable instead of the most fashionable. As such, she saved some money, but got a dirty look for her lack of taste from the clothier. She shrugged and hobbled off, quite pleased with her purchases regardless.

At this point, she was starting to feel the wear and tear on her body, despite the slow and short journey. As she walked, she shuffled, finding the balance between her bag and her cane slightly off, now. She took another, shorter, route back to the Healer, and as such ended up detouring into the jewellery section.

She didn’t mind too much. She liked the occasional piece of sparkle; on her right hand she wore a ring her mother had given her on her 18th birthday, a golden band with three emeralds – her mother’s favourite stone – and white topaz – Shaley’s favourite. She very rarely took it off, because though she left home, she still loved and missed her family at times. The ring brought a piece of home with her, especially her mother. She often wondered if her mother had given her the ring because somehow, she had known Shaley was about to leave. That made the ring even more special to her.

But right now, she wasn’t sure she was in the mood for a new kind of sparkle. She did look around as she walked by, despite not being hawked at, and she did see some pieces she liked, but not enough to stop for. She just wanted to go back and sleep.

Looking back years later, Shaley would never be able to name what eventually made her stop. She had thought it was a flash of magenta stone, or a glitter of bright red eyes peeking out from a cowl and hood. Perhaps it had been a smell, something sweet and comforting, or a sound just heard in the wind, a soothing song…

Whatever it had been, Shaley stopped quite suddenly, her eyes drawn to a small, hidden-away stall operated by one person, a female sorceress sitting easily over the table before her. She wore shoulder-baring robes that accentuated her flawless smooth brown skin and curves, and her hair, a gorgeous and flawless black, was braided into what seemed like hundreds of tiny, beautiful braids, threaded with silver charms and bells. Her robes were midnight black, though since they had no patterns upon their hems, she wasn’t a mage. When Shaley met her lovely amber eyes, the woman smiled brightly and waved her over with long-fingered and ringed hands. Shaley obeyed, curious now, her eyes now on the table.

Spread out before them was an entire jewellery box full of beautiful amulets, in myriad designs and myriad styles. From rings with giant, egg-shaped stones to thin-banded silver charm bracelets small enough for a baby, to insanely detailed pendants hanging from thick, durable thongs.

“Hello,” said the sorceress, still smiling. She waved her elegant hands over the table between them, her entire person emanating good cheer and goodwill. “Take a look, take your time. No pressure, okay?”

Shaley smiled gently, at a loss for words. She knew the sorceress was being kind due to Shaley’s invalid state, but she appreciated it none the less, and for good reason.

Ever since Shaley’s eyes found the table, her eyes were glued to one pendant alone, and though she was able to look around briefly at other things, for whatever reason, her eyes kept returning to that one pendant. For a moment, she suspected that she had been hoodwinked, the charm spelled to make her buy it, but when she scanned for used power, she found none. Whatever kept her entranced was not due to the sorceress before her.

The pendant was about the size of a silver piece, just able to fit snug in the middle of the palm, a circle made from pure pewter, a soft metal known for excellent magical working. Engraved upon the pendant was the well-known triquetra, the symbol for the Goddess’s three forms that all women went through in life: Maiden, Matron (or sometimes Mother), and Maven. However, what was different about this one was that surrounding the three points were intricate braiding, a symbol of binding and protection. And to make it even more unique, right within the centre of the triquetra was a smooth, round magenta stone, the size of the fingernail on her smallest finger. Though small, Shaley could sense that it held incredible protective properties. It hung from a thick, braided cord, pewter clasps holding it closed.

“Ah, I see you have your eye on Gwydion’s Knot,” the sorceress said cheerfully, pointing one finger just above the pendant. “The Triquetra of the Mother, the braids of binding and protection, and the circle of eternity. All in one charm.”

“What is it for?” Shaley wondered softly, looking up briefly.

“Healing, as well as protection in battle and integrity in decision-making,” the sorceress said easily, which, for Shaley, was the mark of honesty. “One of the oldest symbols brought into a modern design with modern materials and updated charms.”

Shaley stared at it, feeling slightly light-headed, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of her exhaustion or something else. But whatever the reason, she wasn’t leaving without the pendant. She knew that much.

She looked up again, her eyes meeting the sorceress’s right on. The woman’s eyes were calm and warm. “How much is it?”

The price was named, likely marked up to make room for haggling, but Shaley paid it in full, which seemed to surprise the sorceress none the less. The instant the cord was fastened around her neck, Shaley instantly felt better. The muscles in her gut loosened, and though she was still tired, she definitely felt better. Whether the necklace had a hand in it or whether it was entirely within her head, it didn’t matter.

Shaley thanked the woman profusely, which earned her gratitude and warmth in return, before Shaley made her way back to the Healer’s hut, exhausted but happy. For whatever reason, her optimism was rising ever so slowly, but rise it did.

_I am going to make it_ , she promised herself. _And I am going to make it_ shine.

* * *

 True to her word, Daltreese took care of Shaley for another week, and slowly but surely, Shaley did start feeling better, more like herself. Daltreese had complimented Shaley’s new look quite emphatically, praising the braid idea and liking how the rest of her hair seemed to direct the eye to it.

When it came to the necklace, Daltreese was impressed. “A Gwydion’s Knot!” she whistled, gently picking it up and eyeing it. “I’ve seen this design before, but only once, and it was barely legible. And I’ve never seen one with a stone like this before _. Very_ nice.”

Shaley smiled shyly. She said nothing committal, not wanting to admit that the pure reason she purchased it was because she felt scared and needed all the protection she could get. She liked Daltreese, and had plans to return one day, but she wasn’t ready to share _that_ much, yet.

The rest of the week went by without much incident. Daltreese helped her start walking steadily again, as well as taught her how to put on and replace the various bandages she would end up with for a few more days following the end of her stay. She also kept Shaley company when she could, though during her stay, there were at least three other patients that came in to stay.

Shaley didn’t really mind. The time alone allowed her to think and prepare for the journey ahead. Her new robes, she decided, while already protected, could use protection of her own. As she cast the spells she needed for the usual durability and longevity of the material, she also added emergency spells, ones that would activate should she end up in danger without a way to fight back.

Her old robes, she had to admit sadly, were done, which was an extra hurt, because they had been her first set she bought on the road. However, instead of donating them completely, she cut the hems from the robes that still held the symbol line for Shinjimo and folded them together, gently placing them into a pocket in her bag. Even though the symbols could change with a spell, she chose not to sew them onto her new robes, instead keeping them as a souvenir, not only of her first years of hard work, but also as a reminder of what she survived.

When the week was up and Daltreese named her fit to walk, Shaley was relieved. While she enjoyed her stay and Daltreese, already she was itching to get back on the road. When she had managed to find a decent map, she found that Daltreese had been right, and that in some sick irony, Shaley was now actually closer to Argom than she had been before the attack. Once she knew that, her mind was already fixed on that place on the map.

“I understand you want to be on your way,” Daltreese warned on the last day, “but _take it slow_ , will you? And don’t be proud; if you need to, _use that cane_.” Shaley had already folded it and secured it in her bag, so Daltreese’s words amused her.

“Don’t worry,” she said instead, smiling shyly. She was still shy around this woman, despite their time spent together. “I’ve learnt my lesson, and I have no intention of wasting energy before I get there.”

Daltreese laughed. “You’re going to need it. I’ve a few family members there, and let me tell you: it’s _not_ a calm place. Oh, and, dress lightly!”

Shaley already wore her new summer robes and a sleeveless shirt underneath, which Daltreese noticed a moment after she spoke, thus she laughed again, slapping a hand on Shaley’s shoulder amiably.

“I do hope you come back,” she admitted. “You were an interesting patient, and I’d love to know if you ever find out who saved you.”

Shaley’s smile flickered for a moment. She had purposely tried to keep that from her mind, but there it was, rudely the centre of her thoughts. She wondered if she would ever find out whom it was that had rescued her, and why? For surely someone who rescued another in such a way expected something in return someday, didn’t they?

Or perhaps she was too cynical for her own good.

“If I find out, I’ll let you know,” Shaley promised with a better smile. She intended to keep that promise, but also find out on her own terms.

* * *

 When her feet finally touched the road and she was waving to a speck that was likely still Daltreese waving back, Shaley felt better already. The day was a beautiful one, a gentle breeze blowing from the north, which kept the upcoming heat at bay for just a bit longer. The sights were clear, the smells were fragrant and beautiful, and everything seemed promising.

Shaley chose to take it as a good omen. As she walked towards the path she had mapped out, she wondered what she would face in Argom. Before she realised it, her hand was already closed over her pendant, feeling a calm warmth sneak into her hand from it. With it, she knew she would never, ever allow her arrogance to endanger her again.

Argom had been her goal for so long, the fact that it was in her sight was exciting. She knew that if anyone existed in Mardimalle who knew anything about Uredine, and how to reach it without its rumoured insanity or suicide, it would be Argom. Its magickal prowess was known in every single corner of the continent, even in the backwards Zola. It had been the goal for so long, and now she was so close…

She was smiling, but she didn’t know it. Already, it seemed like what had happened was a hazy fever-dream of a nightmare. The prospect of being able to speak to actual mages, perhaps even an Uredine mage, made her blood sing within her veins.

Though she knew she was weakened, she decided it wouldn’t stop her. Though she knew she had no idea what faced her on the path to, let alone actually within, Argom, she was already planning how she would spend her time there.

She knew she had to get there, first. But nothing was going to stop her, now. _Especially now._

Argom would never know what hit it when she arrived.

Nor would the rest of Mardimalle.

But that was another story.


End file.
